


Here come I to my own again

by cactusonastair



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, Lewis Summer Challenge 2013, Multi, References canon suicide, Threesome, Yet another post-S7 fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 23:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cactusonastair/pseuds/cactusonastair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The week after Lewis and Hathaway leave the Oxfordshire Police, Hathaway goes missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here come I to my own again

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to barcardivodka for supplying local knowledge. The first half of this fic was beta-ed by the wonderful wendymr. The second half is unbeta-ed but would not have come into existence without her encouragement. All remaining infelicities are, of course, my own.
> 
> Written for the Lewis Challenge 2013 Summer Challenge.

  
_i_   
_no tearful leaving_   


It was remarkable what a difference a week made.

A week ago, Robbie Lewis would have been following his usual Tuesday evening routine – not that police work had much of a routine. He could still have been at his desk, puzzling over some last-minute clue with Hathaway. Or perhaps Laura would have called from the mortuary with a crucial piece of evidence, and he'd be down there, having an awkward conversation over a dead body. Or, if they were minus a case, he'd be clearing up paperwork, and his thoughts would be drifting to where to go for tea. 

A week ago, whether a restaurant offered pensioner's specials wouldn't even have been a consideration. 

Instead of any of those things, he was sitting on the carpet in Lyn and Tim's sitting room, making a valiant attempt at an impression of a Tyrannosaurus Rex devouring its prey. 

It was apparently unsatisfactory, despite him being practically a dinosaur himself. 

"No, Granda, like this! Rawwwwwwwr!" At age two and a half, the bairn already had his own bloodcurdling dinosaur imitation down pat. He was a demanding taskmaster to boot. 

Lyn laughed at Robbie's helpless look. "It's no use, Dad. No matter how hard you try, you just don't seem bloodthirsty enough."

Robbie slumped against the settee. "Surely there must have been peace-loving, herbivorous dinosaurs I could pretend to be," he complained. 

"Matthew doesn't like any of those, I'm afraid. Not that he's big on historical accuracy," she added, as a fire engine rushed to the aid of a wounded triceratops, to the accompaniment of the deafening wail of a siren. 

"Maybe I'll pop down to the shops and get him one anyway," Robbie said, smiling benevolently at his grandson, who immediately abandoned his rescue efforts when he heard the word "shops". 

"New din'saur?" Matthew asked hopefully.

"That's right, new dinosaur, if you're a good boy and pop off to bed now. It's your bedtime." 

"But Granda..." 

"I'll take him," Tim volunteered. He folded up his newspaper and picked up his protesting progeny. "Say good night to granddad." 

"G'ight, Granda," Matthew said dejectedly. 

"Good night, lad." Robbie ruffled his hair and gave him a kiss before he was whisked away. He levered himself onto his knees and made a start on tidying up the mess his playmate had left behind. 

"Oh, let me do that, Dad." Lyn helped him off the carpet, for which he was grateful, then bent to the task of clearing up. "You really shouldn't have promised him a new dinosaur," she reproached him as she picked up five others. "You already brought him a whole load of toys when you came up on Saturday. You're going to turn him into a little tyrant." 

"Privilege of being a granddad. We're supposed to spoil our grandkids, aren't we?"

Lyn smiled and shook her head. "I'll just go and kiss Matthew good night, Dad. You make yourself comfortable, all right? I'll be back down in just a moment." 

Robbie watched her fondly as she bustled off. It was a constant pleasure being here, spending time with Lyn, seeing what a wonderful mother she made. Val would have been proud of her, and of her rambunctious little grandson. Matthew would be even more spoiled if she was alive, Robbie was sure. 

He dropped with a sigh into the settee and pulled out his mobile, his thoughts turning to the one cloud over his existence in the past week. He checked his list of incoming messages hopefully, but there were no new ones. He frowned, and asked himself a question he wouldn't have had to ask a week ago. 

_Where the devil is Hathaway?_

He'd messaged James several times already since he'd come up to Manchester. The first message to let him know that he'd arrived and Lyn said to say hi. The second to inform him of Matthew's newfound obsession with dinosaurs and impressive ability to name every one, concluding that he must have another cleverclogs in the family, just his luck.

When no reply had arrived to either, he'd sent a third message asking where the hell Hathaway was and why he was ignoring his texts. He'd let it rest for a couple of days, not wanting to seem pushy when the lad probably had a lot on his mind, but he'd succumbed that morning and sent another message, carefully crafted not to sound too pleading. 

Still no answer. 

His finger hovered over the "Messages" button for a moment, before he made up his mind. It was time for more drastic action. He held down the "3" key instead, and the words "Hathaway (Pers)" flashed across the screen. A single ring, and then a sequence of three discordant tones beeped into his ear, followed by a dispassionate woman's voice. "The number you have dialled has not been recognised," she informed him. "Please check and try again." 

Robbie looked back at the screen again. He hadn't dialled the number manually, so no chance of a mistake there – and it had been James himself who'd programmed his personal number in for him, years ago, at Robbie's request.

Could James have changed his number? There was no reason for him to have – he would have had to surrender the mobile issued by the Force, but that shouldn't have affected his personal line. And if he had changed it, why hadn't Robbie been given his new contact?

Lyn returned to the sitting room. "Tim's managed to quiet Matthew down," she announced. Then she spotted his expression. "What's the matter, Dad?" she asked, coming over to sit by him on the settee. 

"Ah, it's nothing." Robbie sighed, putting the mobile back down on the coffee table. "I just can't reach James, that's all." 

"Your sergeant? I mean, ex-?" 

Robbie nodded. "He hasn't been returning my texts..." 

"Are they even legible?" Lyn teased. She sobered instantly when she saw his frown. "Let me give it a go." 

Robbie surrendered his phone, but in a moment, it was clear she'd got the same result. "It could be nothing," she said, switching to her reassuring nurse's voice. "Maybe he decided to change mobile providers and they haven't ported his number properly yet. It happened to Tim once." 

"Maybe. Don't worry about it, love," Robbie said, wishing he could do the same. "Sorry, what did you say when you came back in?" 

"Just that Tim's managed to quiet Matthew down. It took less time than usual. You managed to tire him out nicely. You're a wonderful grandfather, Dad, you know that?" Lyn pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

"Better grandfather than I was a dad, eh?" 

"We always knew you loved us, Dad. Even when you were yelling at me to turn down the volume of my music. But it's nice to know you'll be spending so much more time with Matthew now that you've retired." 

A stab of guilt twisted through Robbie. "I'll be back whenever I can," he promised. 

There was a moment's pause while she processed his words. "You mean you're leaving?" 

"Tomorrow morning," he confirmed. 

"So soon? I thought you were going to stay two weeks!" A small furrow of hurt creased her forehead. Robbie hated to see it. 

"I just...need to take care of a few things, that's all." Or just one thing, he thought. One tall, blond, gangly question mark. 

Lyn was silent for a moment. Then she began hesitantly, "Dad, I know this might sound nosy, but..." 

"You know you can talk to me about anything at all, love," Robbie assured her. 

"But it _is_ Laura that you've...well..." She trailed off awkwardly, leaving Robbie completely at sea. 

"Pet?" 

Lyn took a deep breath, her next words tumbling out. "What I mean is, you don't have to hide anything from me. It honestly doesn't matter to me whether they're a _he_ or a _she_ , or how old or how young they are, I just..." 

_Christ_ , Robbie thought. Did she really think that he and James...? And that Laura was just a convenient cover? 

"...want you to be happy," Lyn concluded. She gave him a solemn, wide-eyed look, looking for all the world like a two-year-old tyke herself. 

Robbie took Lyn's hands in his own. "I do love Laura," he said gently. "But I'm also fond of James. I just want to make sure he's alright. It was a big change for him too, leaving the police." 

"'If you go, I go'," she quoted at him, smiling wryly. "Did he really say that?" 

"Yeah," Robbie said, remembering that day down at the Trout, years ago, when James had made his declaration. The way Lyn said it, it sounded like a cheesy line from a film, but that wasn't what he'd heard when the words came out of James' mouth – only utter sincerity and devotion. Hathaway had never forgotten that promise. He'd proven it by handing in his resignation at the same time as Robbie, much to Innocent's dismay. 

"Maybe the next time you come here, you can bring Laura and James with you," Lyn suggested. 

Robbie smiled at the thought of Laura and James trying to interact with Matthew. Laura was as unmotherly as Val had been maternal, and James was awkward as hell around kids. 

He pulled his daughter close. "Thanks for the invitation, lass. I'll do my best."

* * *

Robbie drove down to Oxford the next morning, after stopping at the toy shop for a dinosaur the clerk solemnly swore was a herbivore. He dropped it off at Lyn's, then went straight to Hathaway's flat.

The windows were open when he got there, which meant James must be in. Robbie relaxed. Maybe the lad's phone had gone on the blink or something, just as Lyn had said. 

But then a shadow flitted past the window, and Robbie stiffened. It was short, squat, and decidedly un-Hathawayesque. 

He strode up the path and rang the bell. The flat quieted as the hum of a vacuum cleaner died down, and the owner of the shadow answered. He was a portly, ruddy-faced man in working clothes. Robbie blinked at him uncomprehendingly. 

"You must be 'ere to see the flat. Come on in," the man said, jerking a thumb towards the interior.

Robbie gaped at him. "Sorry, what?" 

"Saw the ad in the paper this mornin', didn't you?" 

"No, I – I was looking for James," Robbie faltered. 

"Oh, James Hathaway! Sorry, mate, he moved out last week. Mate of his, are you?" 

"Yeah. You could say that," Robbie said. 

"The name's Mike Trent. I own this building, obviously." The man wiped his hands on his coveralls and offered one to Robbie. 

Robbie shook it like a zombie, his mind still stuck on the fact that in the four days since the farewell party at which he'd last seen his sergeant, James had cleared out of his flat and cancelled his phone service, without a word to him about his plans. 

"And you'd be?" Trent prompted. 

Robbie's hand automatically stole to his jacket pocket for his warrant card, before he realised what an idiot he was being. He pulled himself together. "Robbie Lewis," he responded. "But if James left, his furniture...?" He gestured towards the room behind Trent. He hadn't been by here much – they'd somehow always wound up Robbie's for takeaway and drinks – but he recognised the furnishings. Except that something was missing. 

_The books_ , some still-functioning part of his brain supplied. _The books are gone._

"Yeah, he left most of it," Trent said. "Said I could 'ave it, so's I can rent it out furnished. I got rid of that weird Medusa head on the wall though. Didn't think it was everyone's cup o' tea." 

"Where did he go?" Robbie asked, clinging to his last shred of hope. 

"Your guess is as good as mine, guv. He said he'd send a forwarding address soon as he knew where he was headed." 

Robbie's heart plummeted to his feet.

* * *

_Robbie Lewis, you bloody idiot. Why didn't you just ask him?_

Robbie kicked himself all the way home. It would have been so easy. All he'd had to do was open his mouth and just ask, the way he asked any of a million questions of a million witnesses. Just a few little words: "What are your plans, for after?", any time during the month when they'd been serving out their notice, and he wouldn't be in this state. 

But he hadn't. He could produce any of a million excuses for why he hadn't. Innocent had kept them too busy. "If I'm going to lose my two best detectives, I'm going to make sure I get my money's worth out of you before then," she'd told them – and what with one thing and another, their last day had nearly taken Robbie completely unawares. And then there was James' prickliness, too – he hated anyone prying into his personal life. Robbie had learnt that the hard way. Best to wait for James to volunteer the information. 

But he never had. 

Had James thought he hadn't cared, just because he hadn't asked? 

Whatever the lad would have thought – he should have asked. Just because everything had been falling into place for him – a nice, quiet retirement, decent pension, Laura – didn't mean the ground wasn't falling out from under James' feet. He'd been in the police for ten years, and though he was sure James would excel at any job he put his mind to, it couldn't have been easy giving up a career like that. 

Even so, he could have sworn they'd left things at a good spot, agreeing to have the odd pint together. He hadn't thought it would be _once a year_ or _once a decade_ odd. 

He arrived home, sorted through the post lying on the front rug – nothing from James. He switched on his computer and checked the personal e-mail address James had once helped him set up. He'd sent an email last night, from Lyn's laptop. It hadn't received a response. 

A pulse of anger surged through Robbie. _Bloody hell, James._ What had he ever done to deserve this? If Hathaway'd been planning to leave Oxford, the least he could have done was to just send Robbie a civil message saying so, shared a last pint. 

Then, just as quickly as it came, the anger was gone. James was a grown man, after all, and he was free to do what he wanted with his life. 

But that didn't mean Robbie was about to give him up without a fight.

__  
_ii_  
 _wilful missing_  


Robbie'd never thought he'd be back in this office again, but here he was, and there Innocent was, sitting across the desk from him.

She gave a deep sigh and massaged her temples. "Robbie, you've only been out of the police for a week. The regulations for declaring someone missing haven't changed in the meantime." 

"I'm concerned for his welfare. The regulations say that's enough, don't they?" Robbie said obstinately. 

"He's a grown man. He knows how to look after himself..." 

Robbie snorted. "That's debatable." 

Innocent ploughed on as if he hadn't said a word. " _And_ , much as I hate to say it, Hathaway is under absolutely no obligation to let you know what he's doing and where. He left his flat carrying his backpack, a suitcase and his guitar. He terminated his mobile number. He clearly wanted to sever connections, and we have to respect that even if we don't like it. Didn't you talk to him at all about what he was going to do afterwards?" 

"Not much," Robbie muttered. 

"Well, _I_ did, at the party, and I can't say he was very forthcoming." Innocent sighed. "But that's still no reason for working yourself up into such a froth." 

"It's uncharacteristic behaviour," Robbie argued. "Who knows? Maybe someone he once arrested kidnapped him out of revenge. Or perhaps –" 

Innocent interrupted him before he could enumerate any more of the dire scenarios he'd found himself imagining over the past few hours. "Robbie, it's not so much that Hathaway's missing as that _you_ miss _him_ , isn't it?" 

"I..." Robbie found himself at a loss for words. 

"Have you talked to Laura about this at all?" 

"Not yet," he admitted. "She was in a PM when I tried calling her before. But I was going to, later." 

"I'd do that before I started giving credence to these wild theories of yours," Innocent said firmly. 

_They're not wild theories_ , Robbie wanted to protest, but sanity took over. Hathaway being kidnapped? Getting lost in the middle of the English countryside? Innocent was right, the lad knew how to look after himself, physically if nothing else. But still... 

"Look, I know I'm overreacting," Robbie said wearily. "But if something has happened, and we don't look for him, who will? We're the closest thing he has to family." 

Innocent's gimlet stare softened. "Alright," she said, in the long-suffering tone Robbie had become accustomed to. "Tell me. What've you tried so far?" 

"I rang one of his band mates. Apparently James left the band over a year ago." It bothered Robbie that he'd been left in the dark about this fact. Music was so central to James' life. "I also tried Professor Pinnock at St Gerard's – she offered Hathaway a job before, but she hadn't heard from him in ages. And one of his church mates, a Victoria Fraser, who went to Prisztina with him." 

"And?" 

"Well, she wasn't exactly forthcoming either. I don't think she was very happy that I dragged Hathaway away from their mission trip and sent him traipsing across Eastern Europe," Robbie admitted sheepishly. "She claimed she didn't know where he was, though." 

"I see. Anything else?" 

Robbie listed the rest of the leads he'd tried and discarded. Innocent nodded as she took it all in, occasionally making a note on her notepad. Finally she folded her hands together, which Robbie knew meant she'd come to a decision about the plan of action. 

"I'm not going to declare him missing –" 

"Ma'am –" 

Innocent steamrolled on. " _But_ , I will make discreet inquiries into his whereabouts." 

Robbie knew that was as good as a missing person investigation from anyone else. "Thank you, ma'am," he said in relief. 

"Robbie, please. It's Jean. And...I do hope he comes back to you soon." She had that little furrow in her brow that meant she was being sincere in her own way. 

He stood up. "Thank you, Jean." 

"And be sure to talk to Laura!" she called after him.

* * *

The main squad room was close to empty when he left – he'd chosen to come in at lunchtime for a reason. He wandered over to their old office, almost hoping that he'd find James sitting at his desk as usual, looking up with a smile as he came in. But the desks were empty, the office just as they'd left it, minus the nameplates on the doors. Jean couldn't have filled her DI vacancy yet.

"It's not the same without you, sir," a voice said behind him. Robbie nearly jumped out of his skin. 

He turned, and was met by the dazzling smile of DC Alex Gray. 

"Gray. How are you, man?" he asked, shaking hands. 

"Very well, thank you, sir. Everything alright with you, sir?" 

"Yeah," Robbie prevaricated. "Fine, thanks." 

Gray's gaze swept the darkened office. "Is there anything in particular that brought you back, sir? Something you misplaced?" 

Not something, Robbie thought. Some _one_. 

"May I help you look, sir?" 

Now that he'd confided in Jean, and knew something was going to be done, Robbie no longer felt the urge to go around town putting up missing person signs. Innocent'd probably have him in for wasting police time if he started confiding his woes to every constable on the force. "There's nothing, but thanks all the same." 

"Goodbye, sir," Gray said, agreeably enough, but Robbie could feel the young man's gaze boring into his back all the way to the exit.

* * *

"Oh, dear," Laura said, when he finally managed to corner her in between post-mortems and deliver the news. "I suppose it must be true, then."

"Why, what do you think's happened?" Robbie asked, alarmed. 

"I thought this might be the case, ever since I saw his face that day at the pub, but..." 

Robbie gave her a baffled look. "What might be the case? What day at the pub?"

"I wasn't a hundred percent certain before, but this rather clinches it, don't you think?" 

"Clinches _what_ , woman?" Robbie asked, voice rising in frustration. 

Laura gave him a look. "Honestly, Robbie, call yourself a detective? James is in love with you." Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if she hadn't just dropped a twenty-tonne bombshell on Robbie's head.

"Hathaway? With _me_? You're joking!" 

"Why not? _I'm_ in love with you." 

Robbie huffed out a laugh. "Thanks, love. But James isn't –" He stopped short. 

Laura raised her eyebrows. "Isn't...gay?" 

"Well, he's only dated women." 

"That you know about," Laura pointed out. 

"Well, I suppose I always did have a suspicion," Robbie admitted. "He does eat Yorkie bars and read _Loaded_ – but that was just the once. On the other hand, he did bring over musicals to watch on DVD some nights, and he does wear pretty fancy shoes..." He trailed off when he saw the scrunched-up expression on Laura's face. 

"Yorkie bars and musicals? What on _earth_ are you banging on about, Robbie?" 

"I just meant that maybe he, you know, runs both ways," he said hastily. But even so, why on earth would his tastes run to _Robbie_ , of all people? It was impossible, surely.

He pulled himself together. He wasn't thinking this through the right way. He was taking this too personally, ruling out theories before he had evidence. 

_Think like a copper, Robbie._

First of all, "that day at the pub". Laura must mean the day they'd announced – rather publicly – that they were an item. He'd been too caught up in the moment to pay attention, but now that he thought about it, that had been a rather pained smile on James' face, as if he'd been holding his emotions in check. He'd congratulated Robbie afterwards, of course, and it had been sincere, but it was just like James to put his own desires aside, wasn't it? If there was one thing James was good at, it was self-denial. And he'd always been a bit distant after that day, refusing invitations to have dinner with him and Laura.

And if he rewound to before that day, there were many moments he could point to, with the knowledge he had now, and reinterpret them as proof of love rather than evidence of a sergeant's devotion to his job. Suddenly "if you go, I go" took on a whole new resonance.

Laura saw that he'd talked himself around to her point of view. "Right, then, let's take that as our working hypothesis. Now, let's talk about _you_." 

"What about me?" Robbie asked guardedly, every sense blaring _danger!_ at him. 

"Have you never thought about.." 

"What, like that, about _Hathaway_?" Robbie asked, incredulous. 

"I've seen the way you look at his arse when he wears jeans," Laura said blandly. 

Robbie blushed, but he knew her powers of observation too well to deny it. "Well...I can admire it objectively, can't I?" he asked defensively. 

"Objectively, yes, it is a very fine specimen of an arse," Laura teased. 

Robbie rolled his eyes, and went on the counter-attack. "Besides, it sounds like you've been doing the same." 

"Ah, but I _also_ think he's subjectively dishy." She gave him a knowing glance. 

Robbie gave up. "Alright, I admit, I've thought about it." He'd surprised even himself by contemplating it. He'd thought he was heterosexual through and through. And he still was, in a way. He didn't fancy blokes. Just James. 

James had wormed his way into his heart somehow, becoming a constant, reassuring presence through the depths of his despair. If it hadn't been for the lad, he probably wouldn't ever have made it out the other side. Even so, he hadn't ever let it develop beyond an idle thought, because no matter how much he might want it...

"It's still impossible," he said.

"Why?" Laura asked, relentless. 

Robbie floundered. "Because...well, he's my sergeant!" 

"Not any more," she pointed out. 

"And...he's a _him_." 

Laura rolled her eyes. "Any other utterly irrelevant objections?" 

"He's young enough to be my son." 

"If he doesn't mind that, why should you?" 

"How can you be so sure he doesn't mind?" 

"I can't. You'll have to ask James." 

"If only I could," Robbie muttered in frustration. 

"Right, so. Find him, then ask him." 

"And what about after?" Robbie had learned to ask that question, now. "What if he says yes? What about, well, _us_?" 

"You know what they say. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Where _them_ equals _us_ , of course." 

Robbie furrowed his brow. "Laura, James is in his late thirties. We can't adopt him," he pointed out. 

Laura rolled her eyes heavenwards, as if asking for strength. "That's not what I meant, Robbie. I doubt if he'd be very satisfied with _that_ sort of arrangement, since I've also seen him stare dreamily at _your_ arse when he thought no one was looking." Her eyes twinkled at him as he tried to wrap his mind around the idea of his sergeant ogling him as he went in and out of the office. Maybe that was why James had always insisted on walking two paces behind him.

"So, what're you proposing then, a – a –" Robbie glanced around the mortuary to check that the coast was clear before whispering, "a _threesome_?" 

Laura nodded. 

"You seriously wouldn't mind?" He knew Laura was far from conventional, but still.

Laura shrugged. "Why should I? He is rather..." 

"Dishy, yeah, I know." He couldn't believe he was even contemplating this. But...that would be the best of all possible worlds, wouldn't it? He'd be happy. Laura'd be happy. James... 

He shook his head. "I don't know about himself, though. He's rather...old-fashioned, you know." 

"Stuck in the past?" Laura asked pointedly. 

"Alright." He conceded the point. "But he's a stubborn one," he warned. Robbie hadn't had years of homophobia and opinions about what constituted a proper family unit hammered into his head since childhood. 

"Find him, then worry about what he'll think. And if he objects on any other grounds besides simply not wanting it, well, send him to me, and I'll talk some sense to him." 

Laura had a determined look on her face. For the lad's sake, Robbie hoped he'd give in before Laura got the bone-saw out.

* * *

"So he definitely hasn't left the country? I don't know, some sort of world music tour? Thank you, Jean, that's a relief." Robbie shut off the phone, feeling anything but relieved.

Now that he knew why James had gone away without a word, his fears about James having been bopped over the head by a released convict hellbent on revenge had been replaced by an even worse fear. He'd seen too many young people off themselves over what they'd thought was an impossible love. And the last thing Hathaway had said to him at the party had come to haunt his dreams. 

_"Goodbye, sir."_

_"What did I tell you about calling me sir? It's Robbie, man," he'd said._

_Hathaway shrugged. "It's the last time I'll get to say it."_

What had he meant, "the last time"? And "goodbye, sir"? The words rang ominously in his head now, sounding too close to a final farewell for his liking.

At least he knew James had left Oxford safely. He'd managed to trace him as far as London, having found a coach driver who remembered Hathaway boarding his bus to London the Saturday after the party. 

Of course, it had to be _there_. Robbie knew what happened when people went off to London. 

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. He'd been through his list of leads several times, but none seemed to know anything. Now that he knew James was no longer in Oxford, he'd have to broaden his search. He'd racked his brains for anyone James might know in London, but he knew James wouldn't thank him to call Inspector Fiona McKendrick of Scotland Yard and ask her for a lead on her ex-lover. Especially not if Laura was right about James. 

That was the only name he'd come up with. 

He looked back at his list and tapped his pencil tip against the name of Victoria Fraser, James' church friend. Perhaps he should go talk to her again. He'd got the feeling, over the phone, that she knew more than she'd said. Perhaps he should set Laura loose on _her_. 

His mobile rang. He snatched it up without even glancing at the number.

"Sir?" Robbie was prepared to rejoice, only it was a woman's voice, not James'. "Sir, it's Julie Lockhart. I was wondering, have you had any news about Sergeant Hathaway?" 

"No, not yet." Robbie frowned. "Who told you about what happened?" 

"Alex – I mean, DC Gray – told us what was going on." 

"He did, did he?" Robbie said grimly. He'd underestimated the young constable. He wasn't so much green as he was cabbage-looking, was he? 

"We – oh, don't be such a coward, Gurdip, you did the most of all of us – we did a bit of digging," Julie told him, after a brief aside with what Robbie imagined was one very browbeaten technical officer. "Can you meet us after work at the Bear?" 

Robbie hadn't been to the Bear since his days with Morse. Few police officers frequented it, despite its general popularity, or perhaps because of it. He had the feeling it had been carefully picked for just this reason. "Alright, see you there," he said, his hopes rising. Julie and Gurdip were good detectives. If they thought they had a lead, it was likely a solid one. 

He glanced at his watch. He'd be early, but he wasn't about to sit around moping here while there was hope.

* * *

Robbie ended up having to nurse his ale for about half an hour, by the end of which the game of identifying the old school ties that adorned the walls of the Bear had got very stale. He was glad when Julie and Gurdip finally entered the pub, on time.

"You look so tired," Julie said to him the moment she sat down, patting his hand sympathetically. 

"It's been...a bit trying," Robbie said, attempting a smile. He pushed the two ales he'd ordered for them minutes earlier across the table. "How've you two been?" 

"Fine, but you don't want to make small talk, do you, sir?" Julie's voice became brisk. "We did some investigating, the two of us –" She flashed a warning glance at Gurdip, who was trying to scrunch himself up as small as he could in his seat. He didn't want any credit for this piece of detective work, Robbie guessed. "We turned up a...connection between between Sergeant Hathaway and one Father Michael O'Hara." Robbie noted the use of the delicate word _connection_ , which revealed absolutely nothing about how they'd found this out. From Gurdip's squirming, he'd bet it was something they could lose their jobs over. 

He was touched that they would go to such lengths for him, and for James. 

Father Michael O'Hara. He'd _known_ that church friend of Hathaway's sounded shifty.

"Who's he when he's at home, then?" But Robbie thought he already had an inkling. 

"He's director of vocations at the Catholic seminary in London," Gurdip replied. 

They looked at one another. Everyone knew what that meant. It had been common knowledge in the nick that Hathaway had once been destined for a career in the church. And it looked like he was again. 

It explained everything so neatly that Robbie couldn't believe he hadn't worked it out before. What was it James had said about the seminary? _Closes your life down a bit_ , and Robbie knew what James meant when he said _a bit_. He probably hadn't wanted Robbie knowing about it either, knowing how his closed-minded old boss felt about God-botherers.

Robbie sagged in his seat. He couldn't exactly stop James, if that was what he wanted now that he wasn't a copper any longer. As Innocent had pointed out, Hathaway was a grown man, capable of making his own decisions about his path in life. 

But then Laura's voice rang in his head. _Robbie, James is in love with you._ If James was doing this to run away... 

No, he had to have it out with James, one way or another. 

"Thanks, you two. You deserve a promotion for this." 

"Actually..." Julie blushed prettily, exchanging a glance with Gurdip.

"Julie's going to be promoted to DS next month. The Chief Super told her just yesterday," Gurdip announced proudly. 

Robbie smiled for what felt like the first time in ages. Innocent had sounded him and James out before they left about their possible replacements, and they'd put Julie at the top of the list. It was good to know that their recommendation had been taken seriously. "Congratulations, lass. Innocent couldn't have made a better choice. Who'll your governor be?" 

"It's not decided yet. Depends on who they get in for the DI vacancy," Julie answered. 

Robbie stood up. "Well, when we get Hathaway back, I'll get him to treat you both to a celebratory dinner, eh? Enjoy the ale." 

They grinned and lifted their glasses. "Go and get him, sir!"

* * *

Robbie stood at the entrance to the seminary, a little uncertain about how to make his approach at this hour of the night, when no one of authority seemed to be in evidence. Perhaps he should have waited till the morning instead of rushing all the way here, or just made a phone call – but he had to know.

The seminary lay tranquil under the cloak of late evening, despite the chaos of London surrounding it. It reminded Robbie of St Gerard's in Oxford. James had liked that place. Robbie could see why he'd been drawn back here. 

Assuming he _was_ here. 

A group of seminarians happened to walk past the gate at that moment, talking quietly among themselves. One of them spotted him and detached himself from the rest, approaching him with a smile of welcome. 

"May I help you?" 

"Yeah. I'd like to speak to James Hathaway." 

"James Hathaway?" The man looked puzzled. Then his frown cleared. "Oh, _James_! He's one of the prospective seminarians on the retreat, isn't he?' 

_Thank goodness._ Robbie exhaled with relief. For a moment there, he'd thought this had been another wild goose chase. But no, James was here, safe. 

"I'll just go get..." 

Another man stepped out of the darkness. "I'll take care of this, Neville, you go on ahead," he said, in a voice that bespoke authority, even though this newcomer wasn't wearing priestly garments either. He reminded Robbie of the prefects at his secondary school, although he was pretty sure there was no such thing at a seminary. Either way, Neville scuttled. 

The man looked Robbie up and down. "You said you were looking to see James?"

Robbie nodded. "I'm Robbie Lewis. If you could just let James know that I'm here..."

"Is it an emergency?" the man asked abruptly.

 _I need to ask James if he'll be willing to enter a_ menage à trois _with Laura and me, a man old enough to be his father. Does that rate as an emergency?_

"Not quite," Robbie said reluctantly. 

"Then I'm afraid you won't be able to see him." As Robbie opened his mouth to protest, the man continued, "It's called a 'retreat' for a reason. This is a time for James to consider his vocation prayerfully and in seclusion from the outside world. No... _outsiders_ are to disturb him during this vital process." 

_But he doesn't know all the facts!_ Robbie mentally protested, when doubt suddenly assailed him. He wasn't in possession of all the facts, either. What if they'd been laughably wrong about the whole thing? Imagining something that wasn't there? 

What if this was the life James wanted to lead? He would fit right in here, Robbie could see that. He had the right to choose for himself, if this was what he wanted, without interference from Robbie or Laura or anyone else.

"How long does this retreat last?" 

"Till Sunday." 

Sunday. He could wait till Sunday. For now, it was enough just to know that James was safe and well. They could have a talk afterwards, and if James still wanted to become a priest...they would deal with it, somehow. 

"Can you pass on a message for me, then?" he asked. 

"Certainly." 

"Ask him to call Robbie when he gets the chance, eh?" 

"Of course." The man inclined his head. 

Robbie turned to go to his car. "Oh, and one more thing." 

The man raised his eyebrows in polite enquiry. 

"Tell him he owes me a pensioner's special."

__  
_iii_  
 _the female of the species_  


James sat on the edge of the bed in his austere dormitory that he would be calling home for the next few years. Beyond the shut door, there was a hubbub of activity as the other prospective seminarians on the retreat packed up to go. He wondered how many of them he would see when the academic year began. He knew everyone expected to see _him_.

Everyone seemed to agree that his decade spent in the police was excellent preparation for a mid-career switch to the priesthood. There were still hoops to jump through – he had to be sponsored by his bishop, and so forth – but everyone seemed to agree that it would be a mere formality. 

The widespread approval had come as a surprise, given his earlier, troubled stint at the seminary. But even Father Chisholm, still a stern, ever-watchful presence in the lives of the seminarians here despite having retired from his position as director of vocations to focus on teaching his beloved Aquinas, seemed to have forgotten, or at the very least forgiven, his youthful culinary transgressions.

James had even been granted special permission to stay on for the remainder of the summer, in consideration of his circumstances.

It was starting to feel overwhelming. Why was it that everyone seemed to be surer of his vocation than he was himself? 

He should be feeling relieved that his future was sorted, he told himself. Going into the police had been a mere wobble on his career trajectory. This was what he'd been intended for since boyhood.

But it still felt like cheating. The church should be his first choice in life, his only choice, not a last resort. He should be committing himself to God with all his heart, not this broken, wretched thing still pining for the impossible.

Because Robbie Lewis was well beyond his reach. He was happy with Laura, and James would never do anything to put them asunder. It had felt like a knife turning in his chest every time he saw them together, reminding him of what he could never have, but he'd learned long ago how to plaster a smile over the raw, emotional hurt. He wouldn't – couldn't – do anything to spoil Robbie's happiness. That was more important to him than anything in the world. 

Not that Robbie would be happy over his decision to return to the seminary. James had one week to come up with a way to break the news to him. Robbie'd be back from his holiday in Manchester then. He'd pop up to Oxford for a quick visit, pensioner's special, last pint, exit his governor's life. He'd miss the opportunity for the occasional get-togethers Robbie had proposed, but there was no way James could stay in Oxford, with Robbie so near and yet so unattainable. He'd have to be in London for five years anyway, and perhaps that would be time enough for the principle of _out of sight, out of mind_ to work its magic.

Not that it had particularly worked so far this week.

He shook his head to clear it. He shouldn't be wallowing here in his room. In this tiny community, his absence from the farewells would be noted, even if he wasn't leaving himself, and he should go lend a hand with someone's bags anyway.

He was just getting to his feet when he became conscious of raised voices amid the hubbub. He cocked his head to a side, listening, copper's instincts telling him that this wasn't a random spike in noise. It coalesced into the footfall of a dozen or more people, growing louder as they approached. Rewind time by four hundred years, and he would have sworn the seminary was under attack. 

The footsteps stopped at his door, and a sharp tattoo rapped against it. He reached for the doorknob, musing that he half-recognised the insistent note in it, but surely it couldn't be... 

"Doctor Hobson?" He took a step back under the pathologist's angry glare. "How did you..." The question died on his lips when he saw the sheepish looks of the priests and seminarians surrounding her, answering the most proximate version of his question. He couldn't blame them for failing to stop her. You didn't cross Laura Hobson when she was on the warpath. 

"Why haven't you replied to Robbie's message?" Laura demanded. 

"Robbie left a message? Here?" 

He must have looked sufficiently stunned, because she whirled on her entourage and demanded, "All right, which one of you lot conveniently _forgot_ to pass it on?"

James couldn't help scanning their faces as they edged away nervously from Laura, landing on the flushed cheeks and bitten lower lip of Sheridan Fraser. No surprises there – Sheridan was a bit of an officious bastard and a stickler to the rules – though he probably shouldn't be thinking that about a fourth-year seminarian and the brother of a friend. More so since it had been through Sheridan's offices that James had been allowed to attend this retreat on such short notice.

A finger jabbed him sharply in the chest, yanking him out of his ponderings, as Laura returned to the main object of her wrath. "And as for you, James – Robbie's been sick with worry for more than a week, because you didn't have the basic human decency to let him know where you were going!" 

James stared at her, wide-eyed. Robbie had been worried about _him_? What was he doing fretting over his ex-sergeant when he ought to be spending time with his daughter and grandson? He hadn't even contemplated the possibility that Robbie would think to contact him while he was up in Manchester. 

"I, er –" 

"Let's go talk somewhere more private," she interrupted, giving the thin walls a suspicious glance. She grabbed his forearm and led him away, the men parting around her like the Red Sea. James could only follow, grateful that she hadn't employed his ear for the same purpose. 

In short order, they were ensconced in the office of the rather bemused rector. Father Francis had beaten a tactical retreat, probably glad that Dr Hobson hadn't taken it into her head to commandeer one of the confessional stalls instead. She sat him down in one of the chairs and stood before him with her arms crossed, an avenging angel.

"I'll give you two minutes to make your plea for clemency," Laura informed him, her tone making it clear that he was lucky he was getting even that. 

James gulped. But there was something he needed to know first. "Was he really that worried?" His heart thudded like a drum as he waited for Laura's reply. 

"Let's put it this way. I have slept unexpectedly well for the past few nights. Would you care to guess why?" 

James bit his lip. The obvious answer, that Robbie was still up north, was clearly incorrect, which left only one possibility.

"Because he's not been sleeping properly?" he offered guiltily. 

"Right in one. And whose fault is that?"

"But I didn't think he'd try to –" 

"You two were practically inseparable for the past eight years, James. Did you think he could really just give you up like that? He came tearing back from Manchester when his repeated text messages to you didn't get a response. And guess how he felt when he found that you had given up your flat without leaving him any means of contacting you? As far as he was concerned, you could be lying dead in a ditch, and he would never know." 

James flushed. "I _was_ going to tell him." 

"Of course you were, once you'd gone and decided everything for yourself," Laura said testily. "Well? What have you decided?" 

James took a deep breath. "I'm going to return to the seminary. It's almost settled. But first, I'll go to Lewis and apologise, and tell him the news myself."

Laura shook her head. "That's a pity." 

James' indignation rose, despite his own qualms. It really wasn't any of her business. "The priesthood is an honourable –" 

"Not because of that, you idiot. Because Robbie happens to love you, but I'm pretty sure Catholic priests aren't allowed to have romantic relationships with anyone, let alone other men." 

James' jaw worked soundlessly for a moment as he stared at her in disbelief. "Robbie loves _me_?" he managed to stutter out at last. 

Laura threw up her hands in despair. "If the pair of you were Oxfordshire's best detectives, then God help Oxfordshire, that's all I can say. Yes, Robbie's in love with you. And I happen to be fairly certain that you rather love Robbie, too." 

James bit his lip to keep it from trembling. He'd never meant for anyone to notice. He'd never meant to come between Robbie and Laura. Though the news that Robbie actually reciprocated his feelings should turn him incandescent with joy, that was all he could think of. 

"But what about you and..." 

"Oh, I'm not giving Robbie up, of course," Laura said briskly. "What do you take me for?" 

She must have seen the look on his face, because she continued more gently, "James, if I were the jealous type, I would be doing my best at this moment to make him forget that you ever existed. But, for some reason unfathomable even to myself, I'm actually fond of you, too." 

She even sounded affectionate, which surprised James – he'd thought she was going to make sure he never darkened Lewis' door again by ensuring that he ceased to exist henceforth. He appreciated the kindness, he really did, but... 

"I still don't see –" 

Laura sighed, and pulled up a chair beside him. "Must I spell everything out to you boys? You love Robbie. I love Robbie. Robbie quite likes both of us. If you and I can get along, then I don't see why we can't be one big happy family." 

James snapped. "Robbie's not some sort of timeshare property in Majorca! He deserves to be loved, wholly and unconditionally, and to be able to return that love in the same spirit!" 

Laura actually looked sorry for him. "Oh, James, you really don't see, do you? You've known Robbie for eight years. Don't you think he has a heart big enough for both of us?"

"I know he does," James muttered, before his pride got the better of him. "But if this is something you're doing out of _pity_..."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, James," she said briskly. "The facts are simple. While you're unhappy, Robbie's unhappy. And while Robbie's unhappy, I'm unhappy. We _want_ you home, James. We want you in _our_ home." She put her hand on his. It was warm to the touch, radiating kindness. "We want _you_."

He closed his hand around hers. After years of being shunted from institution to institution – public school, university, seminary, police academy – where approval had to be earned, scrounged for, was conditional on good behaviour – her declaration, simple, unequivocal, moved him beyond words. He'd felt that acceptance with Lewis, which was why he'd lost his heart. Now he lost it again, as he lifted his head to look into her eyes, and found in them only welcome.

The spell was broken by a knock at the door. James quickly withdrew his hand, and leapt to his feet, blushing guiltily.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, James," the rector said. If he'd seen what was going on, he gave no indication. "But I'll need this room for a meeting in five minutes."

James stepped hastily between the rector and Laura, to shield him from her piercing glare. "We'll be done by then, Father."

The rector withdrew, closing the door quietly behind him. James went over to the window, wrapping his arms around himself. The priest's entrance had slammed him back to reality, bringing the weight of this place, of thirty-seven years of being taught how to live one's life to please the Lord, of mindlessly repeating that doctrine to others, back to the forefront of his brain.

Laura sensed the change in his mood. "James?"

"We can't do this," he said miserably, feeling the prospect of happiness, for a moment so real, slip away into the ether. " _I_ can't do this. This is –" 

"If you're about to tell me that this is morally wrong, James, then it's my duty to warn you first that saying that aloud may result in me doing you a rather serious injury."

James had to smile, despite everything, at the return of this much more familiar Laura. "That's not what I'm saying." It would be no good explaining it to her. This was something he'd have to deal with himself. It wasn't Laura he had to beg for forgiveness – or for permission.

Fortunately, Laura didn't pursue the matter. "Good, because if you haven't noticed, we _are_ living in the twenty-first century." She glanced around the spartan office, which probably hadn't changed in its fundamentals since the seminary was founded. "Well, some of us are, anyway."

This time, James thought, the look she was directing him _was_ one of pity.

"Look, James. No one is going to make you do anything you don't want to do. But think about it, eh? Everyone deserves to be happy, even you. Robbie would probably say _especially_ you." 

James couldn't agree, but he nodded anyway.

Laura went to the door, then turned. "Oh, by the way, James, how well do you handle snoring?" 

James furrowed his brow in incomprehension. "I've been getting used to it. The walls here are paper-thin," he answered cautiously. "But why...?"

"Good. Maybe I'll be able to use you as a buffer." She grinned at him, then swept away like a mini-tornado, taking all the air out of the room with her.

* * *

James escaped from the office before the rector returned. Sheridan was in the corridor, possibly lying in wait for him, but he managed a successful evasion by slipping into the crowd in the main hall, and out again into the quiet sanctuary of the chapel, where he could be alone with his thoughts.

He took a seat in one of the pews, staring pensively at the altar, draped with a cloth of pure white. Eventually, inevitably, the memory of another such altar cloth, stained with the spatter of blood, wormed its way into his mind, forcing him to look away.

This was where he'd learned to condemn homosexuality. Armed with sanctimonious certainty, he'd gone and condemned Will. Will had come to him as a friend, asking for advice, and what he'd done instead was to infect Will with his narrow-minded worldview, teaching him to hate himself. And in turn, he'd condemned Feardorcha, condemned Feardorcha's victims, to horrifying, savage deaths.

And look at him now, contemplating a relationship that made Will and Feardorcha look positively saintly. Forget Adam and Steve, he felt like the bloody serpent in the Garden of Eden.

He let his head fall with a thud against the pew in front of him.

He'd denied that part of himself for so long, hoping against hope that he'd meet a nice girl who could tolerate his failings and settle down, resolving never to act upon the stirrings of his heart towards other men.

But there had been no defence against Robbie, against the kindness of his eyes or the goodness of his heart, against the feeling, as they sat side-by-side watching crap telly and sipping at beers after a long day at work, that someone actually liked him, over-intellectual, prickly personality and all. Someone who knew the worst of him and had chosen to overlook it.

He'd given in to temptation and allowed himself to indulge in fantasies, in the safety and misery of knowing that they'd never come true. And now, when it looked like they might, he was terrified.

It wasn't that he still thought homosexuality was wrong. Will had taught him otherwise. But how could he possibly deserve this – _joy_ – after what he'd done to Will? What kind of hypocrite was he, to give himself the same chance of happiness that he'd denied his friend?

But then it wasn't just his own chance of happiness he'd be denying, was it? Laura had said that they wouldn't be happy without him. He still couldn't quite believe that, but the evidence was there. Robbie had cut short his holiday and rushed back to Oxford, had been searching for him for a week. And Laura had come all the way here to tell him that, to say that she was willing to share Robbie with him. James wasn't sure that he could ever have been that selfless. But Laura always spoke her mind, and if she hadn't genuinely wanted him to return to Oxford, to _them_ , she would have made it painfully clear.

If he let his own guilt over Will's death prevent him from going to them, wouldn't that be still more selfish behaviour?

What would Will have wanted? He tried to remember Will as he had been in life. Sweetest guy in the world, everyone's best friend. A man who'd given up everything to bring his message to the world.

_Love is never wrong._

Will had meant that message as much for him as for anybody, James was sure. He could still feel the intensity of Will's gaze as he uttered those four words, piercing through the television screen into his very soul.

He'd always been certain that Will had meant it as a _j'accuse_ , an indictment of his complicity in Will's suicide. Telling him that he'd been so, so wrong. But now a different interpretation occurred to him. Maybe Will had been trying to send him a different message altogether: that _it was all right_ , that James was free to love whomever he wished. Because Will had always known about James, ever since they were fourteen. He'd seen James more clearly than he'd seen himself.

It was a self-serving thought, but...perhaps the best way to atone to Will would be to live by his words.

A hand landed on his shoulder, startling him from his thoughts. "Father Francis," he mumbled in acknowledgment, automatically making room in the pew.

The rector slid in beside him and studied his face for a moment, before saying, "James, would I be correct in thinking that your, ah, _worldly attachments_ remain a touch too strong for you to give them up altogether?"

James flushed guiltily. "I think you may be right, Father." The rector had been very kind to him over the past week, and he knew he was proving a disappointment.

Father Francis smiled at him warmly. "My son, sometimes the best way to serve God is simply to love. Go in peace."

__  
_iv_  
 _fed, forgiven, and known again_  


The next two hours passed in a nicotine-deprived blur. James dashed to his room, threw together his things, and bade a hasty goodbye to Sheridan and the rest of the bewildered seminarians. He navigated the Tube to Victoria Station, arriving at the bus stop just in time to board the coach to Oxford. A nail-biting eighty-four minutes later, he alighted at Headington and tried to keep himself from sprinting all the way to Laura Hobson's house.

He paused at the gate to summon his courage, his heart thumping. Laura and Robbie were there, visible through the sliding glass door. They were sitting down to Sunday dinner. She was dishing out something out of the pan that looked like fish fillets. Robbie was holding his plate out to her with one hand, his head propped against his left palm. 

He looked wearied to the bone. 

So this was the restful retirement James had inflicted on him. This was what James had put Robbie through over the past week. 

The realisation crushed the joy out of him, reminding him of how little he deserved this man and this prospect of happiness. Why would Robbie ever love an inconsiderate, ungrateful bastard like James Hathaway? 

There was nothing for it. There was only one path to atonement and redemption, whether it led to anything more beyond. He undid the latch on the gate and began walking up to the house, trying and failing to rein in his feelings of trepidation.

He knew now how the prodigal son had felt, returning to his father's house. 

Laura glanced up and saw him. A smile of approval spread across her face. She nudged Robbie, nodded towards him. Lewis swivelled around and stared at him as if seeing a ghost. Then he bolted to his feet and flung the door open. 

For a moment, James thought that they were going to run into each other's arms, like a scene out of some daytime soap. He even put down this things in the expectation of it. But Robbie stopped two yards short of James, staring uncertainly at him. James felt the distance acutely, but he knew he deserved it, after leaving Robbie without a word. By rights, he should be grovelling an apology at his feet. 

But before he could do a thing, Robbie spoke. "Listen, James. There's something I have to tell you, I – well, it's like this."

He paused and took a deep breath, and James had a sudden vision of the young Robbie Lewis nervously asking Val out on their first date. He wondered if Robbie had been this tongue-tied with Laura. He cast a sideways glance at her. She had a hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes dancing with mirth. Evidently not, then.

Robbie pressed on valiantly. "These last few years, you've been more than a sergeant, you've been a good mate..." 

James raised an eyebrow in Laura's direction, asking _does he know?_. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, still looking infinitely amused.

"And then when you left all of a sudden, I realised – " He raised his head, their gazes met, and the lines around Robbie's eyes softened. "Ah, sod the bloody speech. Come here, lad. I've missed you." Robbie put a strong hand on his and tugged him into an embrace, his arms tightening around James' ribs, a gesture whose eloquence James could read more easily than any words.

"I love you too, Robbie," he murmured back, punctuating it with a daring brush of his lips against Robbie's. Robbie's eyes widened momentarily in surprised pleasure and, James suspected, relief, before pressing back ardently for what was possibly the happiest moment of James' life.

Even Laura's muttered _about bloody time_ , and Robbie's mock-indignation, when he worked out that the two of them had already talked about it and declared them a pair of conniving sods, could do nothing to diminish it.

* * *

James was the first to arrive at the restaurant. As host, he felt it was incumbent on him to be early – and besides, he was the only unemployed layabout of the lot, now, unless you counted Robbie, which wouldn't be fair. Besides, the restaurant – he'd chosen a nice one on the High Street – was only a brisk walk away from Robbie's flat, where he was staying.

They'd sat down and had a long, sober talk about what the future held, once the initial giddiness was over. Confessions were made and accepted – Laura about her visit to the seminary, while James admitted that he'd simply drunkenly mislaid his mobile the night of their farewell party, and had opted to suspend his account rather than scramble to acquire a new phone before the retreat. In the end they agreed not to take the plunge into living together quite yet, to give everyone – which really meant James – time to get used to the new arrangement. He'd gone to see Mike Trent, his old landlord, but of course what with Oxford's housing market being the way it was, his old flat had been let the same day the ad had gone out. So they'd decided to play musical flats instead. Robbie was practically living at Laura's already, anyway, and James was, if anything, even more comfortable at Robbie's than he had ever been in his own flat.

He was deeply grateful to them, for accommodating him in so many ways. Robbie had said not to worry about rent for the time being, but James was determined to rejoin the ranks of the employed as soon as possible and repay him.

He'd just made his resolution when a cheerful voice interrupted his thoughts. "Sarge! It's so good to see you!"

He smiled up at the newcomers. "Julie. Gurdip. And it's 'James', not 'Sarge'." As they slid into the seats next to him, he added, "I understand it's you we have to call Sarge these days, Julie."

"Not for another three weeks, but I don't think I'll feel like a DS until I get a proper governor. And maybe not even then," Julie sighed, looking less than chipper for once. James reckoned he could take a pretty good stab at why, having been through the wringer himself in the past. 

"Let me guess. One of the other DCs said something to you."

"Yeah, bloody Hoo –" Gurdip started to mutter under his breath, before Julie shut him up with a warning glare. 

No surprise there. James could easy imagine the kind of "collegial banter" the man might direct at a younger woman who'd just been promoted over him. He looked at her glum face, so unlike her usual demeanour, and decided to offer some unsolicited advice.

"Julie, the first thing you have to know is that this happens to everyone. There'll always be someone who thinks he deserves it more."

"It happened to you too?"

James nodded. "And it's only going to be worse for you. You're young; you're a woman; you belong to an ethnic minority. No matter how good a job you do, someone will always think that you're benefiting from positive discrimination."

"But I'll have to supervise him – them – in the future. How can I do that if they don't respect me?"

"Do your job, and do it well. But don't think you have to be perfect. Talk to your DI. Hope you get a supportive one," James said, thinking of the stark contrast between his first DI and Lewis. DI Knox hadn't been much better than DC Hooper, while Lewis had defended him countless times against remarks of that sort, even when he hadn't known James was listening. "That goes a long way."

Julie looked thoughtful as she digested his advice.

"And remember this: I'm personally certain that Innocent didn't make a mistake about you."

"I second that," a voice said behind him. He whirled around to see Robbie smiling beneficently down at them.

"I third it," Laura added.

Julie blossomed into a smile. "Thank you." She looked at James. "I feel bad about you buying me dinner now, when you've helped me so much."

"Nonsense, lass," Robbie said. "After all, the purpose of this dinner is to thank everyone who helped to bring Hathaway back."

A throat cleared loudly behind them, and they turned to see Innocent arriving on DC Gray's arm. Gray had tried to give them fair warning, but from Innocent's face, it looked like it had come too late.

"Enlighten me, Robbie. What part did Julie and Gurdip have to play in bringing Hathaway back?" she asked, sweeping the table with an interrogating gaze.

Julie and Gurdip began to look very nervous.

James interposed. "And the second purpose of this dinner is to celebrate Julie's promotion to DS."

"I see," Innocent said, though her expression said, _I won't ask_. Julie and Gurdip shot him grateful glances. "Well! Since we're all here, what about a toast?" Wine was brought, they filled their glasses, and she raised hers towards him. "To James. Welcome home."

"Welcome home," the others echoed, raising their glasses in unison.

James felt a lump in his throat.

How could he ever have thought that human beings weren't basically good? Yes, there were people out there who would kill for the most trivial of reasons, but here – here were all these people who'd gone to great lengths for him, who cared for him despite all his insecurities, who'd loved him when he couldn't even love himself.

James controlled the wobble in his voice and lifted up his glass to theirs with a clink. "Cheers, everyone."

*

After a terrific dinner, James excused himself to go pay the bill. To his surprise, he was followed to the counter by Julie. "Would you mind if we could talk, um, in private for a bit?" she asked.

"Of course," James said, wondering what the matter was. She'd been unusually quiet the whole meal, which he'd chalked up to Innocent's presence. But it seemed that something else was on her mind. 

He finished paying and they moved off towards the cloakroom. He looked back at the table. The others were just getting up, so they had a couple of minutes. "Coast's clear. What's up, Julie?"

"Sarge – I mean James – it's just too _weird_ calling you that! Anyway, I have a favour to ask you." 

"Sure, Julie. Anything," he replied instantly, glad that there was something he could do to repay at least one of them for all their kindness to him. 

"You haven't even heard what it is yet!" she protested, her brown eyes searching for signs of inebriation in his. "Maybe I should ask you tomorrow, when you're sober." 

He shook his head. His mind felt clearer than it had for a long time. "Not drunk. And the answer's still yes." 

"Alright, then." She took a deep breath, and blurted it out. "Sarge, will you be my governor?"

_  
v  
some months later_

"Wow, sir. You were on fire today," DS Julie Lockhart marvelled, as Uniform drove away with their main suspect.

"Everyone did their bit," Acting DI James Hathaway murmured. He was already composing the report in his head, making sure to highlight the contributions of his team. Gurdip and Gray had put in meticulous work to seal the case against Keith Hurt. 

"How did you even think to suspect the son-in-law's _cousin_? He had a rock-solid alibi." Julie looked a little crestfallen. She shouldn't have – she had handled her first murder case as a DS remarkably well. The victim had had a sprawling, feuding family, and they'd had to keep track of thousands of little clues and follow each and every one of them up. He'd have to mention that to Innocent too. 

"I learned from the best," he replied. He was too drained at the moment to recount the story of Oswald Cooper and of how Lewis had refused to back down even against the word of three of the Oxford elite. He'd tell her tomorrow. For now, that would be enough, he reckoned. 

Sure enough, Julie bounced back quickly, brightening at his words. "Then it's lucky for me I'll get to learn from you, eh, sir?" 

James chuckled and shook his head. Even if he'd been her first choice, he was the lucky one. Julie was bright, diligent, and a quick learner. More than that, she was empathetic, able to put a witness at ease more easily than he ever had. And most important of all, she was willing to speak her mind to him, voicing her own ideas, letting him know when he was pushing the troops too hard. All she needed was experience, and he'd do everything he could to pass the lessons Lewis had taught him on to her. 

In time, she'd probably make a better sergeant than he ever was. 

He cupped his hand around his cigarette and lit it, inhaling deeply and gratefully. 

Julie leaned over and plucked it out of his mouth, dropping it to the ground and crushing it under her sole. 

He stared at her, mouth hanging open. " _Julie_!" 

"It's Tuesday, sir," she chided him. "Or had you forgotten?" 

Of course he hadn't. He'd been looking forward to it all day. And she was right, Robbie hated kissing him when his mouth smelled like an ashtray . Laura must have put her up to it when they'd stopped by the mortuary earlier. 

Still, it didn't mean he could let behaviour like that go uncorrected. He was a senior officer now, and this sort of impertinence had to be nipped in the bud. 

"You know, Sergeant, I'm pretty sure DSes aren't supposed to cheek their governors like that," James began. 

Julie grinned disarmingly at him. "I also learned from the best, sir."

* * *

Robbie and Laura were waiting up for him when he got back, curled around each other on the settee. They disentangled themselves into an upright sitting position as he let himself in.

"You're late, James. We had to eat dinner before we starved to death," Laura said disapprovingly.

"That's fine," James said, spotting the plate waiting on the kitchen counter. I'll just –"

Robbie got up. "No, no, you sit down, lad. I'll just pop your plate into the microwave."

"You really don't have to..." James stopped when Robbie gave him _that_ look. "Yes, sir." He obediently went to sit down by Laura, automatically taking up his spot in the middle.

Laura leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek. "So, James, did you solve the Hurt case?" she asked.

James opened his mouth to answer, but Robbie beat him to it. "'Course he did. Can't you recognise that self-satisfied smirk on his face?" He put the plate into the microwave and got it going. "So, who was it? The brother-in-law's cousin?"

James felt his jaw drop. _How on earth...?_ "Robert Lewis, four centuries ago they would have burned you at the stake," he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Robbie grinned at him from his spot next to the microwave. "Lucky for me I don't live in the seventeenth century, eh?"

"Contrary to popular opinion," Laura put in.

"Oi," Robbie protested good-naturedly. He looked across at James. "Don't look so downhearted, lad. You got there about the same time I did."

"With ten times the information," James said, feeling as crestfallen as Julie had looked. He'd talked briefly to Laura about the clues they'd been following up during the post-mortem, and he guessed that she'd imparted the gossip to Robbie, but still.

"Hard part's not figuring out who it is, it's proving it," Robbie reminded him.

"It's a lot easier to prove it when you know who it is," James shot back. He considered for a moment. "You know what? Maybe we ought to have you on retainer as a consultant. I'll raise it with Innocent tomorrow."

"What happened to the peaceful retirement?" Laura chuckled.

"Well, maybe I'll accept. But only if I get paid in kind," Robbie replied, tilting his head in the direction of the bedroom.

James flushed beet-red. He shot a glance at Laura to see how she was taking it.

"I'd say 'get a room, you two', but it's more fun to watch you boys attempt to flirt." 

The microwave beeped loudly, and Robbie brought the steaming plate over to James. "Here you go, lad. Pensioner's special."

"Thank you," James said, sniffing it appreciatively. "Mm, mushroom risotto. Smells delicious. Are you sure you made this yourself?"

"Cheeky sod," Robbie said comfortably as he sat down next to James, effectively sandwiching him in the middle. 

Laura frowned at the tight squeeze. "Are you two still convinced we shouldn't buy a three-seater settee?"

"Quite sure," James said firmly. "I'm used to sitting on the crease."

"So how do you think our newly-minted Detective Inspector's faring, Laura?"

"Bit green about the gills," Laura replied, her eyes twinkling at James, "but I'll say this for him – at least he's doesn't go all awkward talking over a dead body." 

"I didn't do that until we started, you know, going together," Robbie defended himself. 

"If it hasn't escaped your attention, Robbie, the three of us _are_ 'going together'," Laura said archly, looping a hand around James'. 

Robbie shook his head and smiled, giving up. "How on earth d'you do it, lad?" 

"I'm good at compartmentalising," James said primly. He regretted it instantly, realising the trap he'd walked himself into. He held his breath, waiting for a taunt about how he'd very nearly compartmentalised _them_ out of his life. 

Instead they said nothing, only smiled and nudged him to get on with dinner. The thought had probably never even occurred to them. 

Somewhere in James' head, a wall came tumbling down. He put down his fork. Robbie and Laura looked at him expectantly.

"About your offer, to move in here – I'd like to take it. If you'll still have me," he blurted out.

They looked surprised for a moment, but then their expressions turned to ones of genuine pleasure.

"Of course it's open, James. We'd love to have you," Laura said, taking his right hand in hers.

Robbie's beaming face said everything James could possibly have hoped for. "We'll move you in next weekend," he promised. "Once we're all back from Lyn's."

"You're assuming I _can_ go. I'm on call this weekend," James reminded him.

"I predict that this weekend, Oxfordshire will be blessedly crime-free," Robbie said confidently.

"God willing," James murmured.

"What, d'you think God will do it if you only pray for it?" Robbie teased.

Once upon a time, when he'd first met Robbie Lewis, James might have bristled at the jest. But now he just took Robbie's hand in his left and Laura's hand in his right, and answered contentedly.

"Why not? He's already given me everything else I've ever wanted."

* * *

Outside, the rain was pelting down, beating a frantic rhythm against the window panes. Inside Lyn and Tim's cosy little home, Robbie felt like a sheepdog surveying its charges, glad that they were all together, safe from the storm.

"Sorry the weather's so bad, Dad. I was hoping you three would be able to see something of Manchester while you were here," Lyn said as she passed Robbie a dripping dish. They'd been appointed the official dishwashers for that meal.

Robbie accepted the plate and wiped it dry. "That's all right, lass. Like Laura said, it wouldn't be a visit to Manchester if it weren't raining."

Laura was ensconced on the settee, chatting away with Tim about books and films. They seemed to be getting along well. James had been given the task of entertaining Matthew, by fiat. Robbie smiled when he remembered how nervous James had been about meeting Robbie's grandson. He needn't have – Matthew had taken to James and his fount of dinosaur trivia like a duck takes to water. He'd been the one to drag James down to the carpet to listen to Matthew's exposition on dinosaur poo.

Lyn caught the fond look on his face as he watched James gravely take in the lecture. "They're practically inseparable, aren't they? I'm not looking forward to the tantrum Matthew's going to throw tomorrow night when you leave."

"Should I not have brought him up, then?" Robbie kidded.

"No, I'm glad you did, Dad. I've wanted so much to meet him, and thank him for everything he's done for you –"

She was interrupted by a loud, menacing roar. Lyn gave a little cry and dropped the bowl she was washing. "Goodness! What was that, thunder?"

If it was thunder, it had come from inside the house. Specifically, from James, who had apparently taken leave of his senses.

Matthew giggled. "Do it 'gain, Unka Jamie! Roar like din'saur!"

"James! I nearly broke a bowl!" Lyn complained, but Matthew's laughter was contagious, and she had to laugh with all the rest, once the shock wore off.

"Sorry." James looked sheepish. "I should have warned everyone first."

Matthew shook his head firmly, putting his hands on his hips. "No, Unka Jamie! Din'saur not warn!"

"He's got you there, mate," Tim said, laughing at his son's stern attitude. "Wherever did you learn to roar like that?"

"I've...been practising," James admitted.

Laura raised her eyebrows. "Who on?"

"DC Hooper, mostly."

Amid the laughter, Lyn turned back to Robbie, rolling her eyes. "He's _your_ boyfriend, Dad."

Robbie blinked. His _boyfriend_. He hadn't ever given James that label in his head before. It sounded funny, but also...it sounded right, especially when Lyn said it so matter-of-factly. Which reminded him of something he had to thank her for.

"Thanks for taking it so well, lass. Not everyone would be all right with their dad taking up with a man their age." Lyn gave him a pointed look. "...At the same time as another woman," he admitted.

Lyn gave his hand a squeeze. "I told you before, Dad. I just want you to be happy. And besides, it wasn't that big a surprise. When you talked about James...it was the same way you talked about Laura. The same way you talked about Mum." She looked at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "I suppose it's only natural that it takes two people to replace her."

"Your mam's not being replaced, pet," he said gently. "No one ever could."

Lyn blinked back her tears, laughing. "But you always have room in your heart for one or two more, don't you, Dad?"

"I don't know, lass," Robbie said, looking out over his flock in satisfaction. "Right now, my heart's pretty full."

_~ end ~_

**Author's Note:**

> Titles for the fic as a whole and the different sections are from the poems of Rudyard Kipling, except for the epilogue, which has a dateline instead:
> 
>  _Here come I to my own again..._ first line of _The Prodigal Son_  
>  _No tearful leaving_... line from _The Broken Men_  
>  _Wilful Missing_... title of a Kipling poem  
>  _The Female of the Species_... title of a Kipling poem  
>  _Fed, forgiven and known again_... second line of _The Prodigal Son_


End file.
